KANSAS CITY, Mo.—In his accustomed spot on the sideline and, by all signs, very much in the moment, Romeo Crennel cued his Chiefs defense with the usual gestures. His right fist held high. His hands waving just so.

Earlier, as his defensive players rested on the bench, Gary Gibbs stood before them with photos of Cam Newton and the Carolina offense. Gibbs leaned in close, jabbed at the photos with his finger, got his message across.

Up in the press box just before the start of this (meaningless?) game between the 1-10 Chiefs and the 3-8 Panthers, Scott Pioli made a quick blow-through. There were a few handshakes and many more knowing looks, but Pioli kept nodding and moving and then he was gone. Somehow, he’d appeared clear-eyed and well-rested.

Three men—the head coach, his top defensive assistant and the team’s general manager—had jobs to do Sunday. Barely 24 hours after witnessing Jovan Belcher’s suicide by gunshot in the parking lot outside the Chiefs’ training facility, they did their jobs.

And so did all the other members of the Chiefs, because that’s what football people do. Right, wrong or somewhere in between, that’s what’s expected in the NFL.

“We wanted to play the game because we’re football players. We love the game,” said Derrick Johnson, the veteran inside linebacker who lined up next to Belcher and was one of his best friends on the team.

If they’d postponed the game, Johnson said, all they’d have had to do is “sit around for hours when we are supposed to be playing, just thinking about the tragedy that went on.”

As there should be, there will be questions raised about Belcher’s physical well-being: Did he have a history of head injuries? Had he already suffered from the effects of brain trauma?

Also, as there should be, questions will be raised about his emotional well-being: Was he mentally ill? Did he have an illness that was untreated?

Meanwhile, there must be widespread respect and consideration for 22-year-old murder victim Kasandra Perkins, and for her and Belcher’s families.

Many Chiefs players, as well as Crennel, made sure to point out that, though their own pain is real, what those families are enduring is far more serious.

“They’re going through something way worse than us,” said defensive end Tyson Jackson.

“I was once told the hardest thing a person can go through is burying a child,” Johnson said.

It’s good to know they have views of life outside the locker-room bubble. But it’s disturbing to see more examples of blocking out the pain.

“We had to handle it like men,” Siler said of showing up ready to play 24 hours after an unimaginable tragedy.

And that’s the heart of an important matter. Should the Chiefs have played this game Sunday? Right now, that’s not the point. It could be argued either way and, besides, a large majority of the team had no say in that decision.

The point is: The game is over; the pain is not.

“This ain’t going away today or tomorrow,” Siler said.

Hopefully, the pain won’t be buried in order to play on because that’s what football players do.

Play on, sure—but talk about what happened. Share feelings with one another. These players call one another “brothers”—be there, then, like brothers.

Johnson seemed to realize this as he was addressing the media—one moment saying “life goes on” but then catching himself as his eyes began to water.

“This situation shows that we need to talk to each other more as men, not just as football players. Generally, men don’t really show their feelings; we don’t talk about what’s going on and we don’t show emotion. To have an act like this go on that could’ve been avoided ... we need to do more making sure the teammate is OK.”

As always, Brown dressed next to Belcher’s locker Sunday; the locker was full with No. 59 uniform and various items that belonged to Brown’s friend. It seemed a lot go through. A lot to have to stand next to.

“Could I have noticed something I overlooked?” Brown wondered.

That question can’t be buried now.

And what of Crennel, Gibbs and Pioli? There should be concern for them, too.

Defensive end Shaun Smith is so close with the 65-year-old coach, he calls him a father. According to Smith, Crennel was similarly close with Belcher.

“It was hard on him. I told him after the game that I love him,” Smith said, eyes filling. “I could feel the pain and emotion that he’s going through. He loves each one of us like we’re his son.”

What did Crennel tell his players in a team meeting on the morning he’d watched one of his boys put a bullet in his own head?

“Rely on each other, rely on our family and friends, and rely on our faith.”

That’s good. That’s wise.

But Crennel, in his opening remarks to the media after Sunday’s win, said he wouldn’t discuss what he’d seen in that parking lot the morning before. He said he’s the same guy; he won’t change. He spoke at length of supporting his players and of remembering Kasandra Perkins, little Zoey and both of the families, but sounded like a man who needed no extra support himself.

Which can’t be true.

“We are football players, we are football coaches, and we play and coach on Sunday,” Crennel said.